Rhiannon Mason is a zombie survival enthusiast who keeps busy by planning for the imminent apocalypse. She spends her days playing beer pong and living vicariously through others. She likes Lego, vodka and unstable women. But then again, who doesn’t?
You can find more of her musings at http://rpmason.wordpress.com/
I am constantly-
Torn between measuring food portions and drowning my health concerns in the depths of several cocktails.
Torn between voting for a heartless, spineless wealthy old man- or another heartless, spineless wealthy old man.
Torn between going home to my beautiful partner to eat dinner together and running away alone into the silent night.
Torn between accepting the harsh realities of this life and embracing the ignorance that comes liquefied until the bar closes.
Torn between making my bed and burning my house down.
Torn between the bright lights and sleazy alley ways of the city and standing knee deep in a stream fishing a yabby-net out of the rivers of rural Victoria.
Torn between trying to accept this young country as my home and plotting my treason.
Torn between trying yoga or a ten day silent retreat and working extra shifts at the bar to pay for more cigarettes to meditate over.
Torn between reading a good book in the park near my home and standing in the street wearing a jump-suit and screaming at the traffic.
Torn between sleeping in a car outside the police station because it’s too dangerous to have the windows down despite forty-five degree heat and cleaning the rancid toilets of rich hipsters to pay my rent.
Torn between removing every hair from every follicle of my body and trying to defend my right not to feel like a hideous monster if I don’t.
Torn between being proud of being gay and ashamed of labeling my sexuality at all.
Torn between feeling judged and not giving a fuck.
Torn between being a responsible adult and plugging my headphones into a house-plant because I’ve had too much acid.
Torn between pouring my heart out and pouring myself another drink.
Torn between feeling like I’m about to die and thinking I’m the only one really alive.
Torn between hearing voices, shaking, sweating struggling to even dress myself and saving the day.
Torn between shouting back at the harsh stranger in the mirror and winking at the familiar friend who sometimes takes her place.
Torn between exercising my autonomy and relying on the kindness of friends.
Torn between craving that turbulent sweaty high that sends me sprinting up the hallway in my make-believe lounge-room country club, and starving for the stability of a packed lunch and neatly folded clothes.
Torn between being able to do one hundred push-ups in a single go and not being able to run fast enough to catch my train.
Torn between being arrested and being commended.
Torn between volunteering for charity and scanning expensive deli-food items through as carrots at the self-serve Coles check-out.
Torn between cursing your wretched face with my angry heart and praying you have the kindest sweetest life imaginable.
Torn between saying no and spending the last of my money on drugs and Lego.
Torn between being a productive member of society and heckling the TV because it won’t fight back.
Torn between getting up to brush my teeth before bed and comfortably falling asleep where I lay.
Torn between faking an orgasm and risking your big fragile heart breaking in my bed.
Torn between planning for my future and driving to Perth with only my dog and the $36.70 saved in a tin next to my bed.
Torn between doing my washing and seeing if I can wear these socks for one more day.
Torn between juggling appointments and dinner dates in my diary and trying to bury my phone in the yard.
Torn between throwing my writing in a bin and making it my Facebook status
Torn between simply enjoying life in this world and my desire to change it.